


Shifter

by Jld71



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 22:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jld71/pseuds/Jld71
Summary: Sam and Dean encounter a shapeshifter.





	Shifter

**Author's Note:**

> Genre: Supernatural AU  
> Word Count: 9,038  
> Beta: jadedquill  
> Written For: The 2017 Spook_Me Multi-Fandom Ficathon

Shifter 

Wichita, Kansas

They were in Wichita, Kansas; they had just finished hunting and destroying a nest of vampires. It would have been nice to have a few days of downtime, but in this line of work, that didn’t always happen. It was something both Sam and Dean knew well. 

This was one such time. 

That’s how it all started. Dean only wanted to stop and check out the abandoned farm after hearing a few stories about the place. There had been reports of something lurking around the place. Strange noises being heard at night. Things being reported missing to the local cops. Most people would chalk it up to typical teen pranks, but, most people didn’t know what was really out there in the dark. That was Dean’s reasoning for the detour before returning to their motel room. No amount of grumbling from Sam had persuaded Dean to change his mind. Sam sat in the passenger’s seat, arms crossed, slouched down with a bitch look on his face. He wasn’t happy about this and was letting Dean know. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him and then smiled. “Come on Sam, we’re driving right by. What’s the harm in stopping to take a look?” Sam side-eyed him and only grunted in response. Slouching down further in his seat, Sam turned his face to the look out the passenger side window.

They entered the farm, traveling on foot. What used to be the driveway was long overgrown. There was no way they were getting the Impala through that. Not that Dean would have allowed it even if they could. The house was the typical two-story farmhouse with a porch. It used to be painted white with black shutters. The paint was peeling and missing in large sections revealing the weathered clapboard underneath. Many of the shutters had long fallen from their hinges, resting in a pile of broken wood on the ground. The dilapidated porch roof hung low, bowed in the middle. The steps creaked in protest as Sam and Dean carefully made their way to the front door, avoiding the rotting areas. They searched the house, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Every room was covered in dust, showing no signs of disturbance. Methodically, they made their way through each room, checking closets, under furniture and in cabinets. Nothing. “Dean, this is a waste of time.” Sam shot Dean the ‘I told you so’ look and walked out into the fresh air. Dean followed, not willing to give up so easily. “We still have to check out the old barn.” Dean walked past him in the direction of the barn without another word.

When Sam joined him, he found Dean with his shoulder against the rusted barn door, trying to force it open. “There’s nothing in there, Dean. Give it up already.” Dean glared at him and put more effort into the task. He let out a triumphant ‘Aha’ as the door opened with a loud creaking sound. “What is that smell?” Sam asked before covering his mouth and nose with his hand. Dean brought the collar of his t-shirt up to cover his mouth and nose and walked in, moving the flashlight around to see better. Sam followed Dean’s lead. They separated, covering more ground that way. The barn was made of wood and stone and was massive, had to be when it had housed animals, feed, equipment and whatever else was needed on a working farm. There were stalls where animals had been housed along with a loft at the far end of the barn separated by a wall with another door for access. Dean chose the stalls to search, disappearing behind the slightly opened door, leaving Sam to search through the outer area where the equipment and supplies had been kept. Dean noticed that the ladder for the loft had long since crumbled into pieces on the ground. Moving the flashlight over the area he saw a large hole had formed in what used to be the packed earth floor. It was filled with stagnant, murky looking water. He sidestep it in order to get to the the first animal stall. 

The creature watched as the hunter moved past her. He hadn't noticed her as she had submerged herself in the murky water near her nest. She had been out of options as to where to hide when she'd heard the voices. 

One had called out, a male voice, low and deep. “Dean.” 

The other male voice had called back, gravelly voice, deeper still. “Yeah, Sammy?”

“Told you not to call me that.” 

“Ok, princess.” 

“Dean.” The voice hissed as it moved away. 

Dean Winchester

From the water she watched as the one called Dean searched her nest. Anger rising in her as he moved about, tossing her belongings. Quietly she rose out of the water and crept behind him. His attention was on something of hers in her nest. He was looking at a photo, one of her as a child with her parents. She found a metal pipe that had been tossed out of her nest as he had moved around it. Picking it up, she raised it above her head and swung. She connected with the side of his head, momentarily stunning him and knocking him off balance. His gun, skidded across the the ground, out of reach. He scrambled, trying to get to his feet only to have her connect with the pipe against his left shin. He hissed at her in pain. “Bitch.” She mimicked the word back at him, in his own voice and smiled. She shocked him, speaking in his voice and she used that split second to her advantage. She raised the pipe again, crashing it down against his head. Looking down at the body before her, she tossed the pipe aside. 

A noise caught her attention. “Dean?” The other voice called out. She moved away from the unconscious man, Dean, hiding herself in the shadows. Her foot connected with something and she reached down for it. Picking it up, she held it in front of herself and tried to remember the word for it. Baseball bat, yes that was the word. It had been so long since she had left her nest, no sense in trying to remember things. But, her survival instincts kicked into gear as the two hunters invaded her nest. The tall one, not Dean came into view. She watched as he saw the other hunter on the ground. He crouched down, checking on the one called Dean she reminded herself. So that meant he had to be Sammy. She mouthed the names and then called out. “Sammy.” She said in a childlike voice. As he raised his head at the sound, she swung the bat, connecting with his head. She smiled in satisfaction at the two unconscious men. 

Then her eyes narrowed, they had invaded her home, had tainted her nest. She hissed in anger before going to work. The task; tying them up so they wouldn’t be able to hurt her. Then she’d figure out what to do with them. She managed to drag the one called Sammy away from her nest with some effort. Her first thought was to kill them both right then but resisted the urge. She bent down and touched his face. She sat back on her haunches toying with an idea, this one would be a good meal. The other one was the one she'd shift into. She smiled at her decision, happy that she had a plan in place. She dragged him further to the entrance to the barn, away from her nest and where she'd shift. She checked the ropes, making sure they were secure. She didn't want to be interrupted during her shift. 

Once satisfied with her work and plan, she left the unconscious man and returned to her nest. Time to deal with the other. She hated shifting, it was painful but, necessary. She'd been in this form long enough and she was hungry. Returning to her nest she discovered the first one, Dean was coming around. Dean, his name is Dean she kept reminding herself. It had been a long time since she had a name to remember and use. She had managed to strip him of his coat earlier, it was well worn, but warm looking. She'd decided it would come in handy as winter hit. She picked it up and folded it, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. She liked the feel of it and rubbed it against her cheek. The smell of the man was nice. Maybe after she fed she would return to him and mate. That was, if he was still alive. As she walked over to Dean, something caught her eye and she moved over to it. Gun, registered in her mind. She narrowed her eyes as she picked it up. Pretty and deadly. She decided to keep the gun as well. Now it was time to shift and then feed.

The loss of consciousness was nothing new, neither was getting his ass kicked, even by a chick. That sneaky bitch, took his jacket, gun and keys. Whoever or whatever she was, he was going to find her and get back what was his. She’d left him trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, feet and hands bound together behind his back. Dean tried to move, judge how much slack he might have to work with and groaned with pain. That bitch had broken two of his fingers on his left hand. He wasn’t sure if she’d done it on purpose but it was gonna be a bitch to get free. She was pretty smart and she was going to pay dearly. There was going to be bodily harm. 

Once she'd finished checking the ropes, making sure he was secure, she ran her hands down his face, stopping at his chin. She leaned in and licked his cheek and Dean felt the bile rising in his throat. “Don't touch me.” Dean protested as he tried to pull back from her. She mimicked him, voice matching his perfectly. ‘Don't touch me,’ and she smiled. She reached for something behind Dean, bringing it to his mouth. She shoved the rag in between his lips, gagging him from further speech. She stood up and backed away from him. He watched as she curled in on herself. Slowly a mucus like membrane covered her body and he heard a muffled moan coming from the cocoon. It seemed to glow and pulse from the inside. The moan grew to a groan and then a high pitched scream. Dean winced at the sound, wishing his hands were free so he could cover his ears. The screaming gradually died to a whimper and Dean watched as the cocoon moved. It looked like the movement from the shifter was aiding in its attempt to break free of the membrane. Slowly an arm forced itself through, joined by the other ripping the membrane apart. A moan escaped from the form as it stood. It turned to Dean, no longer in the female form he’d first seen her in and smiled. It wasn't the first time a shifter had worn his skin. But, it was the first time he'd seen one shift from one form to another. It was painful and disgusting to watch. 

“What the fu-” Dean managed as he looked into his eyes looking back at him. The body moved closer, wet footsteps slapping against the ground as mucus and blood dripped down with its approach. Dean tried to move, tried backing away as it stopped to crouch to his level. “Hi Dean.” Dean’s voice spoke to him as his face smiled back at him. “Don't worry, I'll take good care of Sam.” It said, reaching for the pipe. The shifter raised the pipe, bringing it down on him with a forceful hit. He slumped back and blacked out from the pain. When he came to, Dean found himself alone in the thing’s nest. He groaned as the pain rushed in, throbbing behind his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. He lay on his side trying to figure out how to free himself. Moving was next to impossible, but he forced himself to inch to the mound of debris near the nest. He stilled himself from shuddering at the thought of what might be mixed in there. He hoped he'd be able to find something to use to cut through the rope. He wasn't dying here and he wasn't leaving Sam to the shifter. He flexed his fingers and yelped in pain as the two broken ones knocked against his back. Taking a breath to steady himself, he moved. It was agonizing. Between what felt like an ice pick behind his eyes, the broken fingers and the ropes rubbing his skin raw, he was dazed from the pain running through his body. He fought against the blackness edging in on his vision, forcing himself to move. 

But he couldn't stop, not yet, he wasn't free. Inching along to the pile was painful and slow, his muscles were burning from his efforts. His shirt was plastered to his chest from sweat. Sweat ran into his eyes, blurring his vision. He tried to wipe it away on his shoulder without luck. After what felt like hours, he finally made it to his goal and felt the need to rest. Dean laid on his side, gulping for air. He closed his eyes as his breathing returned to normal and he felt his body go lax as he drifted off. He woke with a start, trying to move and was jerked back in his bonds. Taking a deep breath Dean inched himself into the debris, stifling his gag reflex at the smell. When he was out of this, he was taking a very long and hot shower, or three. Then he was getting his gun and jacket back. And his baby, that shifter better not have put so much as a scratch on her paint. Then he was ending that bitch. No, wait his body double. He shook his head, it didn't matter what he called it, except dead. With aching fingers, he began to feel around in the debris, trying not to imagine what was mixed in. He felt wrappers, papers and something slimy that had him retching. Huffing to himself he moved again hoping to find something useful in another spot. He felt cardboard, wood and more paper. His fingers were beginning to stiffen and his shoulders ached from being pulled back. He shifted, trying another area to feel around in. 

“Yes!” Dean yelled out when he felt a piece of jagged metal. He felt around hoping for a dull side to hold while cutting at the rope. Luck must have been smiling down right about then, because it did have a dull side. He maneuvered the metal into his right hand and held it between his thumb and forefinger and began scraping it against the ropes. He nicked his wrist and the palm of his hand, but nothing he hadn't dealt with before. He felt the rope begin to loosen as he cut through the fibers. His fingers cramped up a couple of times, causing him to drop the metal and search for it again. With a final grunt, he managed to cut through the ropes on his wrists freeing himself. He dropped the piece of metal in favor of rubbing his wrists, massaging feeling back into them the best he could. The broken fingers were swollen and painful but he overlooked that for the time being. He found the piece of metal again and used it to cut through the rope on his ankles. He tossed everything aside and forced himself onto his feet. He swayed at first, standing on tired legs, then he got himself moving in search of the shifter and Sam. Walking out into the other section of the barn, he knew he was alone. He leaned against the doorframe for support, knowing he was going to have to find a way back to the motel, which was about fifteen miles away from the farmhouse. 

He forced himself away from the doorframe and out into the the cold night air. He shivered as the air hit his skin and sweat soaked clothing. He'd have to find clean clothing if he hoped to hitch a ride back to the motel. The thought of walking back wasn't thrilling him. He walked on tired legs and aching feet down the deserted road that had led to the farmhouse. He wasn't sure how long he walked before he finally came to an area with a few houses dotting the quiet street. He circled around the one darkened house among them. Satisfied that no one was currently home, he picked up a rock and broke the window on the back door. Saying a prayer that the house wasn't alarmed, he reached through, unlocked the door and turned the handle. He gave it a few minutes before entering, making sure no cops or security were on their way. Quietly he searched the house, finding it empty. He searched through the bedrooms, finding men’s clothing in one of them. He rummaged until he found a t-shirt, a flannel shirt and a worn pair of jeans that would fit him and went into the bathroom. He had to get the filth and stench off of himself. Without turning the bathroom light on, he peeled his clothes off and tossed them on the floor before stepping into the shower. He lingered under the water long enough to start to feel clean and then got out, toweled off and dressed in his borrowed shirts, jeans and his boots. 

Dean returned downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to look through the cabinets for something he could grab to eat. He found a box of granola bars. They'd have to do for now he told himself. Stuffing them in his pocket he closed the door behind him as he left. He started walking, hoping to come across someone willing to give him a ride. Dean had surmised his luck had run out by now since he hadn't seen one car on the road. The sun was beginning to lighten the sky when he spotted a man coming out of his house and walk over to his car. Maybe if he asked the guy, he'd get a ride, even if it only took a few miles off his walk. He was about to approach the man, when the guy started his car, left it running and went back into the house. And his luck was back, because clearly this was a sign. Once the guy was back in his house, Dean strode over to the running car and slid in behind the wheel. He backed the car out of the driveway and headed in the direction of the motel. Dean was rounding the corner in the borrowed car when the man stepped out of his house again, travel mug in hand, to find his car gone.

Sam Winchester

This totally sucked. How the hell had he ended up here? First there had been a woman and then Dean. He was so confused. The baseball bat to his head hadn’t helped. All it did was knock him senseless. Now, he had a gash over his left temple which was bleeding into his eye, making it hard to see. If only he could wipe the blood away. But, since his hands were tied behind his back, that was kinda hard to do. At least he wasn’t tied to anything. That was a plus, Sam mused and then snickered at himself. His hands were tied and so were his feet. How was any of this in the plus column? He snickered again. The blow to his head must have rattled his brain, making him a little delusional. This was not time to be finding things to laugh at. He tried to move, inch his way to the wall, only to lose his balance and end up on his side. He managed to stifle the ‘son of a bitch’ that was threatening to spill from his mouth as he hit his head against the floor. Again. He literally saw stars. 

He tried to shake his head, clearing it so he could think clearly, but that only managed to make him dizzy and droplets of blood fell into his clear eye. You’ve got to be kidding me, ran through Sam’s mind. He lay on the ground, chest heaving from trying to right himself, his head pounding from the impact. Well, both he surmised. It was a toss up as to which hurt more, baseball bat or floor. He figured the bat won out. Concussion. He most likely had a concussion along with minor blood loss and who knows what else for possible injuries. With more effort than he thought possible with his injuries, he managed to finally roll himself onto his side and then onto his knees. When he was able to raise himself into a kneeling position, he felt his stomach roll and he fought the urge to puke. Some days were just better than others. This wasn’t one of them. Slowly, he started to move, inching his way to the wall. Maybe, he could find someway to get himself up. Yeah, his feet were tied at the ankles, but he could hop. Of course his pounding head wouldn’t be too happy about that, but it was something he would just have to live through. Hopefully. 

His body was covered in sweat by the time he reached the wall. His hair was plastered to his scalp and his shirt clung to his chest. It felt restrictive and he wanted it off but, first he had to get free of the ropes. He leaned his head against the wall and was surprised to find it cool against his skin. He fought to turn himself around so his back was up against the wall. His fingers reached out to make contact with it and he huffed in surprise. It was stone. He was leaning against a stone wall. He could work with this. Curling his hands into tight fists, he began to scrape the rope up and down against the wall. He felt when the rope caught on a jagged edge. He wanted to whoop in joy, but kept quiet. He had no idea where he was or who might be with him. Maybe he was alone. His fingers began to ache from being curled up. He skin was raw under the rope and his muscles were beginning to protest at being kept behind his back. He needed to rest but pushed passed that. He needed to get free and find a weapon. Then he needed to figure out where he was and where the hell Dean was. He felt something slick running down his fingers and instantly knew it was his own blood. In scraping the rope, he also caught his hands against the wall. He bit his lip against the pain and continued. He just hoped that if anything was near, it wasn’t interested in the smell of blood. 

Sam heard movement to his right and tried to focus on it. Was it getting louder, coming toward him. Oh God, had the blood drawn it right to him? Footsteps closed in on him. A voice calling his name. “Sam!” Hands touching him, reaching for his own hands. Suddenly his hands were free and he brought them in front of himself, rubbing away the pain. The person bent down and cut away the rope at his ankles before standing up. Sam blinked at the person, Dean. Okay, it was Dean and where the hell had he been? Where did he come from? “Dean, what happened?” Dean shrugged. “Don’t know, got jumped. Woke up and started searching for you. You okay?” Sam went to shake his head, but the throbbing pain stopped him. “Yeah, I thought I saw a woman and then you. The next thing was a baseball bat swinging at me. Woke up tied, hands and feet. Was trying to get free when you found me.” Sam looked at Dean, his face scrunching in confusion. “Did you change your clothes?” Sam asked. He could have sworn Dean had on a red t-shirt earlier, not a gray one. “You must have gotten hit hard, no I didn’t change my shirt.” Dean clapped him on the back. “Let’s get the hell outta here.” Sam pulled away from Dean. “Wait, the girl, we need to look for her.” Sam said as he started to turn away from Dean. “Sam, there’s no one else here. I already checked when I was searching for you.” Dean said, determined to get them moving to the door before Sam pressed the issue further.

The ride back to the motel was a quiet one. Sam was happy that Dean chose to hum rather than turn the music on. With the pounding in his head, he doubted he could have taken the noise. Sam groaned as he forced himself out of the Impala and walked to their motel room. He needed sleep, a shower a drink and an aspirin, not necessarily in that order.

The Next Day 

“Dean, come here. I think I just found our next case.” Sam said as he looked up from his laptop. He looked around for Dean, who was not in the motel room. His brows knitted in confusion. They were in a one room motel room so it wasn’t like he could disappear into anywhere other than the bathroom, to which the door was open. So, where had Dean gone? Sam hadn’t heard the Impala start up or drive off. Sam pushed back from the desk that was situated in the corner of the room and stood. He stretched his six foot, four inch frame out, sitting for so long had cramped his muscles. He groaned as he rubbed the small of his back, getting the blood circulating back through his body. Sam walked into the bathroom, just to make sure Dean wasn’t actually in there. He pushed aside the shower curtain to find the room was empty, aside from him. He checked between both full size beds, he wasn’t on the floor or in the closet. He checked, just to make sure that Dean wasn’t trying to play some prank on him. He was alone in their motel room. He walked to the door and flung it open to find the Impala still parked where they had left it last night. 

He walked outside and then around the car. She was locked up tight, nothing out of the ordinary. He looked around, Dean was nowhere to be found. What the fuck? That’s when it hit him and his lips quirked into a smirk. The diner, of course. It was just up the road, easily in walking distance and it boasted homemade pie. Sam shook his head and returned to their room. He closed his laptop, made sure he had his motel key, phone and wallet before closing and locking the door. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he started on the walk to the diner. As he came to a stop in front of the door, he saw Dean sitting at the counter, eating pie and flirting with the waitress. Pulling the door open he entered and came to rest on the seat next to Dean. Resting his hands on the counter, he turned to Dean. 

“Dude, seriously?” Dean turned, looking at him for a moment like he didn’t recognize him. Then the flash of recognition crept through his green eyes and Dean smiled. “Hey, Sammy.” He said as he lifted the pie covered fork to his lips. “Hmm.” Dean let the sound escape as he savored the morsel. Picking up another bite, he offered it to Sam. “You should really try this. They’re not lying about the quality of their pie.” Sam waved a hand at him. “No Dean, get that outta my face.” Dean shrugged and brought the fork to his lips again. “Your loss.” Sam watched as Dean closed his eyes, enjoying the bite. After finishing the last of the pie, Dean turned to fully face him. “Whatcha doin here?” Sam blinked twice before replying. “What am I doing here? You took off without saying a word. The car’s still at the motel so I figured you’d come here. That is, after I searched the room and car for you. What the hell Dean?” Dean stood, reached into his pocket and threw a few bucks on the counter for the waitress. Shrugging he turned to Sam. “Didn’t know I needed to check in with you. Last time I checked, you’re my little brother, not mom.” Anger flashed through those green eyes so fast that Sam almost missed it. Sam held up his hands, trying to placate Dean and stop any further argument. Sam started to follow Dean out, when Dean stopped and Sam ended up walking into him. “What the hell, back off.” Irritation ringing through Dean’s voice. 

A female voice broke through the tension, bringing their attention to the waitress who stood holding a takeout bag in her hand. She walked around the counter to stand in front of Dean. She looked Sam up and down once before dismissing him from her attention. “Hey, I almost forgot to give you this.” She pressed the bag into Dean’s hand. He looked at the bag and then at her, a quizzical look on his face. “It’s the rest of the pie. You liked it so much. It’ll just sit there. Shame to let it go to waste. Oh and my number’s in there too. In case . . . “ She let her voice trail off and smiled at Dean before moving forward and leaning up to kiss him. Sam watched as Dean kissed her back before walking away. She turned and slapped Dean’s ass before shooting a glaring eye at Sam. Dean chuckled and walked out, not waiting for Sam as he let the door close behind himself. Sam sighed and followed his brother. 

They walked the distance back to the motel in silence. Upon entering their motel room, Dean stopped and turned to Sam. “Why did you really come find me?” Suspicion coloring his voice. Dean crossed over to where Sam had left his laptop. He ran his finger over it and looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Something you wanted to show me?” He chewed his bottom lip as he waited for an answer. “Yeah, I think I found us a case.” Sam walked over and opened his laptop, pulling up the news article he'd read earlier that day.

“Not interested.” Dean shot back at him. 

Sam whipped around to face Dean. “What do you mean not interested? Just yesterday you had us searching an abandoned farm because someone supposedly heard strange sounds coming from there.” Sam raised his right hand, pointing to the cut above his eye. “Someone or something took a baseball bat to my head. Remember? Found the bat near me. Any of this ring a bell?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, still not interested. Not feeling it, Sammy.”

“I told you to stop calling me that. You can be such an asshole sometimes.” Sam ground out letting his frustration clearly show.

“I'm so tired of your bitching, Sammy.” The emphasis heavy on Sam’s hated nickname. “That's all you ever do l! Give it a rest. Why don't you get that stick outta your ass and relax for once?” Dean clenched his hands into fist, taking a step closer to Sam. “Sometimes I really wish I'd never saved your ass. Any of those times. My life would be so much better if I was on my own. I might have had a real family. One that was my own, not stuck with you in this life I’m living. My own personal hell, aren’t I lucky?”

Sam looked at his brother with a shocked expression. Had he heard Dean right? 

“You know, Sammy. I’m so sick of taking care of your ass. All I ever do is protect you. Keep you safe. What the hell for? Why are you so special? What, are you the second coming of Christ? Well, no you’re not are you? You were supposed to be Lucifer’s vessel. Sometimes I really hate you. You’re like a stone tied around my neck. Maybe my life would have been better if dad had never saved you from that burning bedroom of yours. Did you ever think about that? You left for Stanford, dad said if you leave to stay gone and you were still his favorite. He still worried about you when you were gone.” Dean spat the words out at Sam. His green eyes registering with glee at the hurt look that filtered across Sam’s face. “Oh, what’s the matter Sammy? Never thought I’d say such cruel things to you? Gonna go cry like a friggin’ girl?”

That had been the night’s main event between them. After the words that Sam had no idea where they came from in Dean, he watched as Dean walked out, slamming the door behind him as he left. Sam sat down on his bed, mystified as to where the anger and hatred had come from. He rested his head in his hands. He’d seen Dean mad, heard him be callous and yeah, an ass but never like this. This was something that just erupted in Dean, like a dam had broken and he couldn’t keep his darkest thoughts from the light of day. The look of pure disgust that had been in Dean’s eyes for him had hurt, had cut him to his very soul. Dean had laid down his own life for him. Went to hell for him, made a deal with a Crossroads Demon and even Death to save Sam. This made no sense to him. Wearily, Sam dragged himself from the bed to the bathroom to change for the night. Once done, he shut off all the lights and settled into bed. Dean’s words kept playing in his mind before sleep finally came to him.

The sound of humming stirred him from sleep. Sam rolled onto his side to see Dean’s outline from the bathroom. At least Dean was back. Maybe he just needed to blow off some steam and they’d talk in the morning. As the light clicked off and Dean walked to his bed, Sam heard him speak. “Night Sammy, sweet dreams.” Sam rolled back onto stomach, getting comfortable before replying. “Night.” Sam said, sleepily before he buried his face into his pillow. 

The Shifter

Slowly, Sam woke as if coming out of a fog only to find he couldn’t move. What the hell? He tried to move his arms and legs, only to find that he was securely tied to the bed. His arms tied to the headboard and legs to the foot board. What the fuck kind of game was Dean playing?

“Dean!” Sam roared out, his voice gravelly from just waking. He fought against the ropes, banging the headboard against the wall. The bathroom door swung open and Dean appeared, standing in the doorway. A smile played over Dean’s lips, it was cruel and calculating. He moved toward the bed and Sam found himself flinching away from his brother. “Oh, you’re awake.” Dean’s voice was smooth, honey filled. And the smile was back, it was almost as if he was giddy at seeing Sam trussed up. Which didn’t make sense to Sam. Why would Dean be giddy? Why the hell would Dean tie him up? “I know, you’re probably wondering why I tied you up. Well, I didn’t want you going anywhere before I was ready.” Sam watched as Dean’s eyes roved over his body and Dean licked his lips. 

“Dean, what the fuck is going on? Have you lost your mind? Let me go!” Sam yelled, yanking on the ropes around his wrists. The headboard slammed against the wall again. 

Dean smiled again, his face lighting up with joy as he looked over Sam again. “You still haven’t figured it out have you? And I thought you were the smart one.” Dean moved closer to Sam, resting at the edge of the bed. He reached out with his left hand to touch the top of Sam’s foot. Dean’s skin was cool to the touch, cold, almost too cold. Sam tried to kick the hand off, despite being secured to the bed. Sam watched as Dean’s right hand appeared from behind his back, holding a hunting knife. Sam’s eyes went wide at the sight.

“Dean, what are you planning to do with that? I hope it’s to cut me free.” He swallowed several times, trying to figure out what else he could say to distract Dean. “Dean, this isn’t funny, whatever this frigging joke is. Let me go.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, there’s no getting free. At least not for you.” Dean brought the knife up to the hem of Sam’s sleep pants, hooking it under the fabric and sliced at it. Dean cut a line up to Sam’s knee before stopping. He trailed the knife back down to Sam’s ankle, gently at first. The knife came to rest over his anklebone before Dean dug the tip of the blade into his flesh. Sam hissed at the pain. “What the fuck!” Sam roared frantically trying to free himself. Keeping the tip in Sam’s flesh, Dean dragged the blade back up, stopping where he had when he sliced through the pants. A line of blood formed along the cut. Sam yelled out in pain and Dean smiled. Horrified at what was happening to him at the hands of his brother Sam froze as Dean raised the blade up. Sam watched as Dean brought the blade to his lips and his tongue flicked out, lapping at the blood. “Hmm” Dean let out as he ran his tongue along the blade, licking it clean from Sam’s blood. He smacked his lips when done and then smiled, bloody teeth showing. “Your blood tastes good. I wonder what your flesh will taste like.” Dean said as he ran his tongue over his lips, coating them with saliva and blood. 

Sam’s mind raced with what was happening, was Dean possessed? Sam pulled on the ropes, only causing the ropes to pull against his flesh. A trickle of blood escaped from his left wrist and Dean reached over for it. With one outstretched finger, Dean ran it up Sam’s forearm to his wrist, catching the blood. He brought his finger back to his mouth and sucked it clean. Sam’s mouth dropped open at seeing that. He pulled hard again, wrapping his fingers around the rope, hoping for more leverage. Dean ran the knife down Sam’s chin, resting it at the hollow of his throat before moving it to just under Sam’s t-shirt. Sam stiffened his body, trying not to move against the cold metal of the knife. Sam heard the material of his shirt splitting as Dean hooked the blade against the shirt collar. Sam felt the cold air against his skin as the two pieces fell from his chest to pool around his sides. “Dean, what are you doing? Let me go. Untie me.” Dean only smiled at him. “I’m not kidding, Dean. LET. ME. GO. DEAN!”

Dean let out a high pitched giggle and then his lips quirked up into a grin. “No, not letting you go. Just getting started.” He moved away from Sam to put the knife down on the other bed across from them. He turned his attention back to Sam. “I’m not Dean. Thought you would have figured that out by now.” Dean moved to the bed and leaned over Sam, sniffing him. “You smell good. Hungry. I'm so hungry.” Sam felt Dean’s cold fingers on his stomach. They moved in a circular pattern over his skin causing goosebumps to raise. They brushed over his belly button, traced his nipples and then along his ribs. Sam shuddered at the sensation of those fingers against him. He tried to move away, but he couldn’t. “Dean.” Sam said in a whisper. That's all he could call the person in front of him. He watched as Dean sank to his knees by the side of the bed. He looked at Sam, fingers of his left hand splayed over Sam's naked chest. Dean raised himself up slightly and reached to touch Sam’s face. He rubbed Sam's cheek before covering Sam's mouth with his hand. 

“Shh.” Dean returned in a whisper. Sam tried to struggle but the hands on him stop him, holding him in a vice like grip. He tried to speak, but the hand was still clamped over his mouth. Sam watched as Dean leaned down and licked him across his stomach. Dean did it a second time and smiled after licking his lips. Sam's breath caught in his throat. He tried to renew his struggles to get free but between the ropes and the hands, he wasn’t moving. Sam sucked in a startled half breath when Dean’s mouth widened, sharp teeth showing. In one quick movement, Dean’s mouth was on his left side. Teeth sinking into tender flesh, biting. Sam shrieked at the pain. Sharp teeth tearing into his flesh, biting, ripping. He heard the sick wet pulling sound as Dean moved back from him. Blood running down his chin coloring his pale skin red. Dean lifted his hands to his face and spit. Dean held something up for Sam to see, it was bloody and hard to recognize at first. Realization hit Sam, it was a chunk of his flesh. He watched as Dean’s tongue licked around his lips, cleaning away Sam's blood. Sam watched as Dean’s mouth moved, chewing and then swallowing. Sam's stomach churned as he watched, bile threatening to fill his throat. He had to fight back the urge to puke when he watched Dean lick the fingers of his right hand clean. Dean’s left hand, still bloody, held the chunk of Sam's flesh. “Knew you'd taste good, Sammy. So, good.” Dean sighed in contentment.

Agony. Pure agony was the only way Sam could explain it. The pain radiated out from his ribs. He looked down to see a chunk of his left side missing. The creature smiled at him, bloody teeth glinting in the light. His blood dripping from that things mouth. Dean’s mouth. The smile widened into a grin. It looked so grotesque on Dean’s face. No, not Dean. Not really, it was a shapeshifter. The shifter was wearing Dean’s face, his body. Dean was gonna be pissed and Sam laughed at that. There was Dean, Sam’s blood dripping from his mouth as he chewed on a piece of his own brother’s flesh. Sick bastard! You’re supposed to protect me, keep me safe, not snack on me.

No, this wasn't Dean. You idiot, his brain screamed at him.

Sam's vision blurred from the pain and blood loss. He shook his head. A shifter, not Dean. He almost sank back against the bed in relief. He might have even laughed at this knowledge but the thing was eyeing him. The look screamed hunger. He took a shallow breath, the pain from his injury making it hard to breath at all. 

The shifter moved toward him again, tongue running over his top lip. “More.” His fingers ran along the tear in Sam’s side, collecting some of the dripping blood. He was going to die here, tied to a motel bed, a snack for a Shapeshifter. Dean. He didn't even know where his brother was. Dead. His mind screamed back at him. Dean was dead. Had to be if he wasn't here and that thing was in his place, wearing his face, his body, snacking on his brother. He tried to fight, to get free, from the blackness trying to claim him.

A sound brought Sam back to consciousness. Slowly he opened his eyes to see what had caused the commotion. The door was no longer closed. It was splintered, in pieces and barely hanging from its frame. In the doorway stood Dean, chest heaving, cradling his left hand. His right hand holding a machete. 

The End

“You son of a bitch! Get the hell away from my brother.” Dean’s green eyes flashed with anger, burning and searing. An intensity that Sam had never seen before. The shifter hissed at Dean and tried to scramble away, only to hit the unoccupied bed. Dean moved into the room, blocking any attempt to escape the creature made. With a groan, Dean brought his left hand to join his right hand at the base of the machete and swung. The shifter screamed in pain as the weapon hit its mark. Sam smelled burning flesh. Silver, the machete had to be made of silver. Dean must have popped the trunk of the Impala to get to the weapons before coming in to fight the shifter, Sam reasoned to himself. He heard another scream as Dean raised and lowered the weapon again connecting with the shifter’s body. Dean raised the machete one last time with brute force, severing the shifter’s head from its body. Sam heard the thud as the head fell against the floor. Dean kicked at the body, causing it to fall to the floor with another thud.

“Dean.” Sam managed to croak out. He knew he was losing blood and his grip on consciousness. “Sammy!” He heard Dean’s voice. It sounded like Dean was talking to him through wads of cotton. “Hold on.” He felt a hand on his stomach and he tried to roll away. Sounds of movement in the room lulled him into a sleepy state as he felt his eyelids growing heavy. “Hey, stay with me.” The voice said filtering through his numb mind. Something was moving against the he bed, touching his arm and he didn't try to move. He heard a thwack and his left arm went slack. Another thwack and his right arm went slack. Two more thwacks and his legs were free and he was being rolled onto his right side. “Shit!” The voice again, it was speaking. Something was pressed against his side, it hurt. “Sammy, you hear me? This is gonna sting like a mother, but I gotta do it.” Sam nodded or at least he tried to, thought he did. Movement and sound again and then blinding pain. Sam jackknifed up, nearly falling onto the floor. “What the fuck!” Sam yelled, arms flailing out trying to hit at the pain. Two hands grabbed him, pulling him back down. Sam heard a muffled mother fucker and turned to the voice. Dean. Sam looked at him, eyes wide in terror before he settled on the ‘not Dean’s’ body in two pieces on the motel room floor. He watched as Dean set a bottle down on the nightstand and disappeared out the motel door. 

Dean reappeared with something under his arm. Kicking the door shut, Dean grabbed the chair from the desk and dragged it over. He sat down heavily and put the item on the nightstand. Sam looked over, following Dean’s movements as he opened the first aid kit. He took out the supplies he needed and closed the lid. Picking up the bottle he offered it to Sam. With shaking hands, Sam grabbed it and brought it to his lips. He took a long pull from the bottle of whisky and coughed as it burned his throat. Then he shook from the pain the coughing caused. Dean grabbed the bottle and put it down. Sam looked down at his side, trying to gauge the damage. 

“Bad?” Sam asked. Dean shrugged. “Seen worse, seen better. You want a towel to bite down on? Gotta stitch you up or you're gonna bleed out.” Sam shook his head. This wasn't the first time Dean had to stitch him up, he'd survive. Dean shot him a look, but didn't argue. Picking up the bottle again, he poured some of the liquid over his his hands before working on the task at hand. Sam felt the burn of the alcohol on Dean’s hands and from the needle sliding into his skin. He yelped out in pain. Dean stopped and looked at him. Sam nodded at him to continue. It seemed like Dean went slowly, agonizingly slow. Once bandaged, Sam reached for the bottle, taking another long pull before Dean grabbed the bottle away. “Easy, lost a lot of blood and flesh.” Dean capped the bottle and dragged himself to his feet, still cradling his hand. “Dean, what happened to your hand?” Sam managed to ask. Dean glanced back at him as he made his way to the bathroom to clean himself up. “That shifter broke a couple of my fingers. Made it harder for me to get free.” Dean’s voice was low and filled with anger. He managed to clean his hands and face without too much pain. He’d worry about himself later, Sam needed him right now. 

He needed to pack up and get them somewhere safe so Sam could rest and heal. He came out of the bathroom with a bag packed with toiletries and stopped. Sam had managed to sit up, tug off the remains of his shirt and was trying to get to his feet. “What the hell Sam? Lay back down, I got this.” Shaking his head, Sam steadied himself using the nightstand to balance. “No, gotta take care of your hand. Need to set the bones so you can still use it.” Dean rolled his eyes at him. Typical, Sam’s half dead and still trying to do things. On shaky legs, Sam crossed the room to the desk and leaned against it, holding his left side with his right arm. “We’re a pair, Dean.” Sam let out a hollow laugh that ended in a hiss of pain. “Come here, let me take a look.” Grudgingly, Dean walked over and placed his left hand on the desk. His fingers were swollen and bent unnaturally. 

Sam winced seeing Dean’s hand. How had he managed to get free, let alone swing the machete with his hand like that? “Gonna need the kit again.” Dean said as he lifted his hand away from Sam. He retrieved it and the chair so Sam could sit. Opening the kit, Sam took out two finger splints and medical tape. Dean placed his hand down and leaned against the wall as Sam tried to straighten his fingers without causing him pain. “Come on Sam, just do it already.” Dean hissed between clenched teeth. Sam looked at him apologetically before forcing Dean’s bones back into place. Dean grunted at the pain but remained silent Grabbing the splints, Sam slid them over the fingers before taping them in place. Dean grabbed the trash and threw it away before gathering up the rest of their stuff and tossing it in their duffle bags. 

“What about that?” Sam asked, pointing to the shifter’s body and then the blood soaked bedding and towel. Dean cast a look around the room. It looked bad. He sighed. “Just get your laptop and head out to the car. I’ll take care of the rest.” Sam opened his mouth to protest, but saw the look Dean shot him and kept quiet. Sam, with Dean’s help pulled his coat on over his bare chest and did what Dean had asked. He put his laptop on the back seat and gingerly lowered himself into the passenger’s seat. He laid his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. 

Dean watched as Sam slowly made his way to the car. Once he was in, Dean went back into the room. A one man clean up job was going to be a bitch, but he needed Sam to get some rest. Grabbing the last of the towels, he wiped away the blood on the walls and floor, thankful the motel room wasn’t carpeted. He stripped the beds and was happy to see that the mattress had been spared from blood soaking into it. He rolled the body and towels into the bedding and dragged everything outside under the cover of night. The motel was situated on the outskirts of town, away from a busy road and not far from a small wooded area. Dean dragged the body there, making sure to cover his tracks and any sign of the body. When he was satisfied the body, the shifter still wearing his body and face, wouldn’t be found for a while, he walked back to the motel. Dean went back inside to make sure every trace of them and the shifter were gone from the room. If anyone suspected anything or found the body, they’d only be able to trace the DNA back him. No big deal, hard to prove a death when said dead person was alive. Dean’s plan was to be far away from Wichita before the body was ever found. With any luck, the body would be devoured by wild animals. Dean quickly washed the dirt away from his face and hands before making his way to the car.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but he woke when Dean closed the trunk and then slid behind the wheel. Opening his eyes, Sam noticed it was no longer pitch black out. The rays of the sun were just starting to color the sky in pinks and oranges. “What time is it?” Dean had to turn to grab the door to close it with his good hand before answering Sam. “Nearly six. Time to put some distance between us and Wichita.” Dean said as he turned the key in the ignition, bringing the Impala roaring to life. Sam nodded in agreement. “Everything all set?” Dean looked back at the motel room door in the rear view mirror as he pulled the car onto the road heading out of town. “Yeah, Sam it is. Just get some rest.”


End file.
